


Rites of Passage

by AeonDelirium



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dark, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage, Language, M/M, Mindfuck, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeonDelirium/pseuds/AeonDelirium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am your father, Reek.” He chuckled softly at the bewildered look on Theon’s face. This is it, he thought curiously. He did not know why, or how, but he felt that it was all about to end in some way. He is going to kill me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rites of Passage

**Author's Note:**

> I don't normally write things quite as dark and explicit as this. Let me say it was a challenge, and let me warn you not to read if any of the warnings raise red flags to you.

Theon was not sure what to make of it all. Earlier in the afternoon, Damon Dance-for-Me had come for him in the kennels, where he had been spending the day gazing into the empty air and letting the Bastard’s Girls warm him with their shaggy bodies pressed close to him. He had not realised how cold he was until Damon pulled him to his feet, his limbs aching with old scars and open sores. He shivered as the other man urged him across the yard and into the glass gardens, where Bolton’s men had spent the past few weeks clearing away the rubble and opening the hot pools, much to the delight of everyone.

 

Theon wanted to weep as a wave of merciful warmth greeted him upon entering the gardens. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be warm, and all the exhaustion and tiredness that had come from squirming around and shivering in his threadbare clothes suddenly weighed down on him like a stone. Damon instinctively grabbed him by the shoulder when he stumbled, squeezing his arm hard enough to leave it bruised.

“Watch where ya going,” he hissed. “If Lord Bolton finds you dead at me feet, he’ll have me pay for your worthless bones.”

 _Lord Bolton_ , Theon thought. Was that Roose? Or Ramsay? He was trying to care, but instead he wallowed senselessly in the blissful heat emanating from the pools. He could barely hear Damon rambling on about the things he’d seen the Boltons do to those who displeased them. What else could there be that they had not already done to him?

 

“He wants you to have a bath, and about time.” Damon gave him a nudge towards the pools. “You’re filthy enough. You _reek._ ” He chuckled stupidly at his own brilliant joke and cursed Theon when he did not join in on his merriment.

“Either way, you better get at it. No one’s to come in while you’re here, his Lordship don’t want anyone to get sick from the ugly mess-up in your nether parts. Because I hear there’s sausage for dinner tonight.” When Theon refused to laugh this time, Damon mumbled something unintelligible and left him.

 

At first, Theon was reluctant to take off his clothes. After all, Ramsay had given them to him himself, and told him to wear them, no matter what. Even when Roose Bolton had offered to dress him a little more appropriately, he had obediently insisted on keeping his foul, threadbare rags. _This smells like a trap._

Perhaps Damon and the others were trying to trick him into something. Perhaps Ramsay had never given any order for him to take a bath, and they were going to inform him that Reek had boldly decided to frolic in the glass gardens. Of course Ramsay would know the lie. His Reek _never_ did anything to displease him. But, of that there could be no doubt, he would nevertheless seize the opportunity and punish him for his supposed crime.

 

In the end, it was too tempting, the water too close and his bones too tired. He shed his clothes like a mouldy second skin and slid into the water. The heat stung slightly in his open wounds, but the pain was bearable. He felt the scabs soften and the blood and grime dissolve on his skin, like so many memories that were little more than sweat and filth. For a moment, he could almost believe that it had all been nothing but a nightmare, that in a minute Robb would come strolling in, kicking off his boots as he made some mocking remark about the lack of proper hair on Theon’s chest. _But he’s gone. They are all gone now._ He could still feel an ache whenever he thought of them, Robb and Jon and even mistrustful Catelyn Stark, but it hurt a little less as day after day went by. Like the pain in his phantom toes and the throbbing in the fingers that Ramsay had taken, he knew what he’d lost, but indifference and apathy crept up on him like the relentless, unstoppable cold. _Winter is coming. And they are gone for good._

Theon froze when he heard a sound behind him. For a moment he thought he could taste his heart at the back of his throat. _Please don’t let it be him. Please let it be Ben Bones. Or Damon. Let it be Damon, come back to make me laugh about sausages. I’ll laugh. I promise._

“Well, well, fancy seeing you here, Reek.” They never listened. And why should they? He had betrayed them, and thought himself witty for it. Why should the Old Gods listen to Theon Greyjoy?

Ramsay walked around to the other side of the pool to get a look at Theon’s face. What he saw must have pleased him, as his eyes lit up with a malicious smile. He wore a heavy crimson cloak, trimmed with soft black fur, dark and decadent enough to give him the look of some ferocious, ugly demon god. Theon did not know nor care what horrors the Seven held in store for sinners in their Seven Hells, but he felt he would gladly crawl into their depths as if it were his mother’s womb, if only Ramsay could not find him there. And Ramsay dropped his cloak. He was naked underneath.

“I’m so glad you came,” he sighed as he let himself glide into the water on the other side of the pool. “It was not until I’d already sent Damon on his way that it struck me, my directions might have been somewhat unspecific. Bring me one of the Girls, I told him. I want the ugliest one.”

 

Theon stared ahead into the cloudy water, wishing he was somewhere else. Back in the kennels, clad in his same old rags. But Ramsay seemed to have different plans for him this afternoon.

“See, Reek, I thought you might want to do me a favour today. Repay me for the all the kindness and hospitality I have given you since you came here as my honoured guest.” He crossed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes like a contented cat. “Don’t worry, I want nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, you have done it before. You did rather well, as far as I could judge. Only my dear, sweet wife did not seem to enjoy it quite as much as I had hoped. But then she never quite seems to enjoy the things I like,” Ramsay mused and leaned back contemplatively, giving Theon a good look at his broad chest, riddled with scars and coarse dark hair. Theon shuddered.

“My lord …?” He could not be asking for that. He could not be asking for _that_. _If I don’t do it, will he kill me?_ Perhaps that would be the kinder fate.

“ _My lord?_ ” Ramsay clicked his tongue, lazily stretching out his legs in the hot water until they touched Theon’s thighs, making him draw back against the wall of the pool as far as he could. “Didn’t my good lord father tell you how to not sound like a little kraken princess? But it seems you are just as slow to learn as the wolves that raised you.” Ramsay stretched out his arms and yawned. Meanwhile, his foot had wandered up his captive’s thigh. Theon crossed his legs in an instinctive reflex to protect himself. Ramsay snickered.

 

“Oh, come on. It’s not like you’ve got anything to lose down there now.” He pushed himself over to sit beside Theon, his smile fading all at once. “It was just like this, you know,” he said quietly, and Theon shivered at the hot breath on his moist skin, trying his best not to look into those cold eyes. “I was in the bath, almost drifting off to sleep in the hot water. There was no one around but me and this young, comely girl, just my age, just my size …” Ramsay licked his lips and let his head sink back for a moment, gazing into nothingness through half-closed lids. “She was smiling at me whenever she came back with another jug of water. A lovely smile, and she still had all her teeth, too. I’d never been with a girl, and I thought, perhaps if I smiled back at her the next time … But then _he_ had to spoil it all. I’ll tell you he is very, very good at that.” Ramsay ran a hand through his wet hair, and the fleeting expression of bitterness that passed his features almost made him seem human. Theon felt the gooseflesh creep up his arms at the thought. He must not let himself _feel_ anything for this man. He must not let him into his head, not again. _It’s all just a game. If I lose, he’ll take another finger._

 

“He joined me in the tub,” Ramsay continued, looking at Theon so intently that he could almost feel him read his thoughts. “He sat down beside me, just like I am sitting with you now. And then he took my hand, just like this.” Theon attempted to draw back, but too late. Ramsay was quicker and stronger, clasping his calloused fingers around what remained of his right, drawing low, breathless gasp from his lips. “Just like this,” Ramsay repeated through gritted teeth. “And then he put it _there._ Just like … this.”

Theon dared not breathe, though every tortured, worn-out fibre in his body writhed in repulsion as Ramsay’s arousal slid between the remnants of his fingers, a slick threat.

“My – m’lord,” he managed weakly, praying to the Seven or the Drowned God or whatever god was willing to interfere that the moment would pass, just another sickening memory. Ramsay watched him from slitted eyes.

“I’m not _m’lord_ now,” he said quietly, and mercifully let go of Theon’s hand, leaving him to wonder whether he was expected to take it away. He withdrew slowly, trembling like a leaf, but Ramsay let it happen.

“I am your father, Reek.” He chuckled softly at the bewildered look on Theon’s face. _This is it,_ he thought curiously. He did not know why, or how, but he felt that it was all about to end in some way. _He is going to kill me._

“I created you, just like he created me. Just like this.” And with that, he grabbed him by the hair and forced his head underwater.

 

Silence and pressure enveloped him as the water pushed down on his eardrums. The heat and the rock salts stung in his bloodshot eyes, so he squeezed them shut. _No,_ was all he could think, _not this, not like this._ He clawed at Ramsay’s thighs with what strength and fingers he had left to him, but it was not enough. He tried to protest when he felt him push against his lips, but all it did was waste precious air. He could hear Ramsay laughing from far away, giggling at the tiny bubbles that rose from between his legs, as if he knew they were screams. He fought until he had no more fight left in him, and then gave up, opening his mouth just as he ran out of breath. A brief pang of pain shot through him as Ramsay pushed himself past the ruins of his teeth, but after that, he began to feel blissfully numb. Piece by piece the world was dying to him, while Ramsay buried himself in the soft cavity of his throat. The lights went out, the shutters closed. There was no point in choking on a cock, really, when your lungs were filling up with water as it happened. _What is dead may never die_ , he thought vaguely.

And there it was, finally, his drowning. The thing Ned Stark had saved him from as a child, the thing he had dreaded as a grown man. The thing he had thought to have escaped for good, and oh, was it sweet. Sweeter than the embrace of a mother. The clammy embrace of the Drowned God, wearing the face of the Stranger. Fuck his father. Fuck his sister. Fuck the thrice damned miller’s boys. _Fuck me,_ he thought. _I am free._

 “ _Breathe!_ ” a voice seemed to shout at him. He blinked in confusion, his eyes still unseeing, when something hit his cheek. “I said _breathe,_ you worthless whore!” And the voice was right. He needed to breathe, needed it so badly that nothing else seemed to matter. He received another blow to the cheek, and then another hit him on the back, making his insides convulse with sudden shock. Water came gushing out of his mouth and nose, and it felt as though he were spitting out his very soul with it. It burned in his nose, all the way up to his brain. And suddenly, there was air. He gulped greedily, wanting all of it, all at once. It seemed to tear him apart from within, potent as alcohol and sharp as Valyrian steel. He coughed and gasped, somewhere on the edge between life and death, the edge between spit and swallow. And then he fell back into life.

 

“I’ve seen _dogs_ that could hold their breath longer than that,” Ramsay growled, and it dawned on Theon that he had not died. _Even the Drowned God does not want me._

“Looks like you are not going to feast beneath the sea tonight, are you?” Theon stared at the man from dull, reddened eyes. “That’s because his halls are reserved for brave men. Are you a brave man, Reek?” Ramsay nodded in agreement when he shook his head. “That’s right. You’re not a _man_ , Reek. And you’re not a woman either. You know what that makes you?”

Theon nodded slowly. “… freak …” _It rhymes with Reek._

Ramsay took his face between his hands almost lovingly, so close that their noses touched for an instant. “That’s right. Because I made you a freak. And you’re _perfect_ to me, Reek. Because you’re _mine_. But what am I saying –“ Ramsay licked his lips, and Theon almost tasted his spit on his tongue. “You want to know how it ends.” Theon managed a puzzled frown.

“… ends?”

“The story, Reek. I wasn’t quite … finished yet.”

 

Theon barely struggled when Ramsay pulled him to his chest and wrapped his arms around him from behind, hair scraping on his spine. Every now and then tiny shivers were passing through him, as stray drops of water fell from his lips. He tried his best not to let his head fall back against his captor, but it was so, so hard. _So, so tired._ He had spent himself in an effort to return to _this. I deserve no better, after all._

 

“Let me tell you a secret, Reek,” Ramsay said, rocking him gently in his arms. “I could not hold my breath any longer than you did. _I’ve seen dogs that could hold their breath longer_ , he told me. Makes you wonder if he ever tried, doesn’t it?” He chuckled, but there was no mirth to the sound. “But a man is still a man, and so he pulled me into his lap, just like _this_.”

And again, it was too late. He was too slow. When the meaning of his words finally sank in, Theon found Ramsay’s hands firmly planted on his hipbones. His heart skipped a beat, then another.

“No,” he whimpered, squirming to get away. “Please, no, I’ll do anything!” The salts on his skin mingled with the salt of tears as the futility of his pleas drove them to his eyes. “I’ll try again,” he promised, trying despite the pain in his hands to pry himself free of Ramsay’s iron grip. “I’ll do it, I’ll use my mouth …” He leaned away as far as he could, hands beating uselessly at the water, until his muscles went limp and he slumped forward like the rag doll he had become. “Please,” he sobbed feebly. “Please … kill me, but please don’t …”

 

“ _I’ve had your mother,_ he told me.” Ramsay pulled him back with ease and a quiet little laugh at the back of his throat. “ _There is no reason why I shouldn’t have you_.” His ragged breaths were cold on Theon’s clammy skin, making the bile rise at the back of his sore throat.

“Where is your mother now, Reek?” Ramsay rasped and pulled him down into his lap. “Where is she now?”

Theon cried out in pain and buried his face in his hands, clawing at his own skin and hair in search for something to hold on to as Ramsay buried his length inside of him in two vicious thrusts. The water sloshed all around them, turning the soothing sounds of his childhood into crashing waves of wretched disgust.

It was not so much the pain, the pain was manageable. The pain was nothing, compared to Skinner’s flaying knife. It was knowing that this was it, the last bit, the last part of him that had still been Theon. The last part that had not yet been a freak. A jolt of ragged pleasure shot through his veins, incomprehensible, and for the briefest moment he knew that nothing had ever felt so good since the day they had finally shoved the knife between his legs. He gasped. He cried. He shut down.

Reek had no mother. He had no father. He had only Ramsay, who had brought him into the world through blood and pain and tears.

  _I was right after all,_ Theon thought weakly, as Ramsay pulled him down again, and again, and again. _He was going to kill me._

 

It was not long until Ramsay spent himself inside of him with a low, drawn-out groan. Theon shuddered one last time, and then he was no more.

 

“And then he left, Reek,” Ramsay concluded, giving him just enough of a push to send him sliding off into the water. He climbed out of the pool and stood, as if nothing had happened. “Just like that.”

Reek looked up at him through wet strands of hair. One last tear rolled from his eye as the throbbing subsided slowly, but it vanished into the water without so much as a tiny sound. Ramsay picked up his cloak and flung it around his shoulders.

“One more thing, Reek.” He stepped closer to the edge of the pool. Just one missed step, and he could have fallen and split his skull. Theon might have risked it. Reek did not. Ramsay smiled.

“The pretty girl I mentioned, she’s not so pretty anymore these days. Because she watched. And she talked.” He bent down, his smile fading once more, and for a moment there was another flicker of that bitterness. “If you talk, Reek, I’ll take another finger.”

 

Reek drifted through the water for a little while, staring up at the ceiling with his eyes wide open. Time passed, and darkness fell. His skin wrinkled up and the creases filled with salt and lime and traces of what they’d done. He had almost fallen asleep in the womb-like warmth by the time Damon came back for him.

“I’ll never tell,” he whispered softly when the man grabbed him by the foot to drag him out, cursing and mumbling about this and that. Reek crawled over to where he had left his clothes. He took the rags in both his hands and buried his face in them, inhaling the smell.

_It almost rhymes with free._


End file.
